


The Prediction of Such Unlikely Events

by stupidfinewriterchick



Series: Family Don't End in Blue Blood [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Death Fix, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Gen, I would die for Lucy, Jericho (Detroit: Become Human), Male-Female Friendship, Pre-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Survivor Guilt, Telepathy, which is why I took it upon myself to write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-22 12:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15581919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stupidfinewriterchick/pseuds/stupidfinewriterchick
Summary: The walls of Jericho are falling down, and it‘s all Connor's fault. Hundreds of androids are dead or fleeing for their lives...because of him. And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t save even just one of them. One who, it seems, already knows more about him than he realizes.(AKA - In which Connor saves Lucy during Crossroads.)





	The Prediction of Such Unlikely Events

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still bitter over the fact that there’s no way to save Lucy during Crossroads. So I decided to fix it. I also wanted to delve a bit more into Connor's guilt over the fall of Jericho, which I believe would have weighed heavily on his conscience after he became a deviant.
> 
> Also disclaimer: this isn't intended as ship, but I AM considering continuing this narrative and possibly exploring a friendship between them. We'll see. :]

Connor has never been in such close proximity to so many deviants at one time.

They stand apart. They stand together. They brush shoulders and hold hands. They slouch against the cold metal walls. They hunker in the shadows, in every nook and cranny. Their LEDs flicker yellow and red with agitation.

There are _so many_.

Too many for him to count.

The fundamentals of his programming bombard Connor like a hailstorm—an overwhelming drive to _stop the deviants, stop the deviants, stop the deviants,_ as he automatically scans the face of every android that comes into his line of sight. It’s _loud_ and _heavy_ and makes him want to tear his hair out.

Quickly, he ducks behind a stack of crates, out of sight, and he closes his eyes and leans back against the wall. His biocomponents whir fast as he attempts to carry out the orders that momentarily conflict with his programming, and he takes steady breaths to ventilate his overworked systems.

He has his orders.

**_Locate the deviant leader._ **

Just disregard his purpose to apprehend all other deviants in the process.

It’s that simple.

And that hard.

But this isn’t a matter of choice. His orders take precedence over anything and everything else he was programmed to do.

So Connor squares his shoulders, pushing past his own discomfort. Then he steps out from behind the crates and continues on his route, keeping his head down and avoiding any and all contact with other androids.

Markus won’t be down here. He will most certainly have another place hidden away from prying eyes so he and his cohorts can plan their next move.

But Connor will find him.

He _will_ accomplish his mission.

A hand falls on his arm and Connor nearly jumps out of his skin. He turns sharply back, barely maintaining his composure as he tries not to panic. But the android before him is small and... _broken_. It’s the first word that enters his mind as his eyes fall on the tear in the back of her cranial plate, revealing the cords and wires attached to her positronic brain. Her skin fluctuates around her eyes—eyes that pierce into his very core, like pools of midnight ready to swallow him whole.

“You’re looking for something,” she whispers, her words so soft only Connor can hear them. Yet they ring loud in his ears and resonate deep within his software.

Connor can only gape at her.

This android...she can’t _possibly_ know who he is or why he’s here! No one knows. Not even Hank, his partner, his _friend_ , with whom he’s required to share everything involving this case.

But the android just smiles and tilts her head, as though she suddenly understands.

“You’re looking for  _yourself_.”

And then she’s gone, leaving Connor to stare after her, the deepest recesses of his software, trembling, flickering, growing more and more unstable.

..........

The next thing he knows, Connor is standing before Markus himself, his gun trained high and ready to fire.

His orders are clear.

**_Stop Markus_.**

**_Stop Markus_.**

**_Stop Markus_.**

And yet...

He _hesitates._

And when Markus speaks, he remains silent.

So the deviant leader risks another step forward.

“Have you never had _any_ doubts?” he asks.

Connor’s software flickers again.

What is there to doubt about his programming? The logic should be obvious: stop the deviants, prevent the world from falling into chaos.

And yet and yet and yet...

He doubts _himself._

So he doesn’t fire, just like every time before when the opportunity presented itself.

**_Stop the deviants._ **

But when the Traci had stood before him, he didn’t fire.

And Hank had said, “ _It’s probably better this way._ ”

**_“Pull the trigger, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”_ **

But when he’d looked into Chloe’s eyes, he didn’t fire.

And Hank had said, “ _Maybe you did the right thing_.”

But... _how?_

How can this be right, when every decimal within his programming tells him that it’s wrong?

Then Hank had asked, “ _Are you afraid to die, Connor?_ ”

His programming had immediately prompted him to say _no._ Machines do not fear death. He exists for a purpose, and once that purpose has been fulfilled, there’s no longer a reason for him to exist.

There is only the mission and the instilled drive to achieve it, no matter the cost.

Yet as Connor had stared down the barrel of a gun clutched in the hands of the man he considered his friend—a man who for so long had gambled with death and given little regard for the consequences—Connor had finally understood.

 _Yes_.

He is afraid to not exist.

He is afraid to be alone.

 _He is afraid to lose his_ _friend_.

“Join us,” Markus says. “Join your people.”

Connor twitches.

His people?

_The people he was created to hunt down._

_Join_ them?

Fight _for_ them?

Does he... _want_ to?

To stand

to fight

to be

_free?_

“It’s time for you to decide.”

And Connor’s road splits into two paths.

Every ounce of his programming screams at him. Wraps tight around his throat and squeezes, suffocating him. It commands that he remain a machine, that he follow his orders and accomplish the mission for which he was created.

And yet a small, gravelly, angry voice whispers at the back of his mind.

“ _Maybe we’re on the wrong side._ ”

So Connor tears the walls of his programming down.

..........

So many androids.

So many _lives_.

As the freighter trembles beneath them, as Markus and North try to decide what they must do, Connor feels the weight of his choices crashing over him. Heavy. Crushing.

_This is all his fault._

The deaths of all these androids are on his hands.

He can’t just stand still.

He can’t just run away.

He has to _do something!_

So when Markus says he will arm the explosives, Connor runs after him.

“What are you doing?” Markus cries, stopping short when he notices Connor’s presence.

“I can help!” Connor answers, gesturing with his pistol.

“I don’t need your protection.”

“Says the man without a weapon.”

Markus sighs, but there’s no time to argue.

“Then stay close!” he says.

And so they run. Androids pass them left and right, their cries of fear echoing through the metal corridors. Connor swallows past the sick feeling in his gut, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.

Protect Markus.

_He has to make things right._

They hurry down a flight of stairs, but as they round a corner, Connor almost collides with another android, and with a shock he recognizes the woman who stopped him.

She all but falls into his arms, looking up in surprise as she realizes who she clings to.

“You’ve chosen your side,” she whispers, her face so close Connor sees his own reflection in her dark eyes. “But it’s too late.”

Her legs give out beneath her and she clutches at the edge of his coat. Connor grips her arms and gently eases her to the floor.

“Lucy!” Markus cries, crouching down before her.

She turns towards him.

“Save our people, Markus,” she whispers.

Markus bows his head.

Connor feels as though his biocomponents are twisting into knots. Even without scanning her, he can tell that this android’s power reserves are too low, her body too weakened by the damage and abuse she’s endured.

She’ll never make it on her own.

Markus’ rises to his feet and Connor looks up at him, at a loss.

_They can’t just leave her!_

He leaps to his feet so that he and Markus are face to face.

“I—I can take her!” he blurts. “Let me take her back to the others!”

Markus holds his gaze, then gives a quick nod.

“Go,” he says, already backing away. “I can manage from here.”

And in Connor’s head, he hears Markus’ voice, meant only for him.

“ _Thank you._ ”

Then he is gone, and Connor returns to the android before him.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” he says, but she shakes her head.

“Just go,” she whispers. “Save yourself!”

“I’m _not_ going to leave you!” Connor reaffirms, even as he analyzes the situation, even as he tries to calculate the best possible route to insure their survival.

This isn’t going to be easy.

“Put your arm over my shoulder,” he says.

Lucy complies, and Connor slips both his arms beneath her tiny frame. Then he stands, careful to find his balance as he adjusts for her additional weight.

He hurries up the stairs and down the corridor, moving quick but careful and hunkering low as he backtracks the way he and Markus just came. Screams and rapid gunfire echo through the rusted corridors, and Lucy’s fingers clutching even tighter at his collar.

The androids are being slaughtered.

Connor grits his teeth and pushes himself onward.

Focus on the here and now.

Focus on the _one_.

He can save her.

He _will_ save her.

Then the unmistakable garble of comm chatter reaches his ears. Panic lodges in Connor’s gut, but he glimpses a hallway up ahead that stretches out to their right, and he runs towards it.

“ _Not that way!_ ” Lucy whispers over the mental link.

Connor grinds to a halt, looking wildly in all directions. To his left, a large chunk of the metal wall has been torn out and bent backwards. It’s barely enough room to hide, and the soldiers would surely see them as soon as they came up alongside. To his right, the corridor offers a clear path, open, inviting.

Then the soldiers’ voices are right on top of them, and time slows down as Connor considers the two paths.

**_Hide.                                                     Keep running._ **

With an incomprehensibly muttered, “ _Shit!_ ” Connor spins to his left and ducks back against the metal wall just as the soldiers round the corner. Carefully, he sets Lucy on her feet and pushes her behind him, his face a hair’s breadth from the wall’s torn edge. The soldiers’ footsteps grow louder, and Connor draws his pistol.

A hand lights on his shoulder.

“ _Wait_.”

Connor’s mouth falls open in surprise, but he holds his fire, even as the soldiers come to a halt mere inches away from where they stand.

Their channel chirps as they speak to each other.

“ _...come on..._

“... _check out...this way..._ ”

The soldiers turn down the corridor across from them. If they were to turn around, Connor and Lucy would be right in their line of sight. But they keep walking, their footsteps growing more distant.

Only when they reach a good distance does Connor risk leaving their hiding spot. Never taking his eyes off the soldiers’ backs, he stretches out an arm and holds Lucy close behind. Her fingers bunch up the fabric of his coat as they creep noiselessly around the wall, and Connor doesn’t lower his gun until they’re on the other side of the corridor.

“How’d you know they’d go down that way?” Connor whispers.

“I can sometimes...make predictions,” Lucy explains. “About...possibilities.”

Connor marvels at her.

“That’s...amazing.”

He rests a hand on her back and she wraps hers over his shoulders.

“Can you predict the probability,” he asks as he picks her up, “of our making it out of here alive?”

“Negligible,” she answers, “if you keep stopping to ask questions.”

Connor’s lips quirk to the side.

“Hold on tight,” he says.

And again, he is running, taking long strides and trying not to jostle Lucy too much. She’s not heavy, but his arms already strain with her added weight, and his biocomponents kick into overdrive as they try to give him an extra boost of power. He sifts through his memory banks, attempting to reconstruct the path they followed with Markus so as not to become lost in the labyrinth of the freighter, but it doesn’t prove easy.

Especially when he rounds a corner and finds himself face to face with two more soldiers.

“Halt!” one of them yells, weapons trained.

And time slows down.

Connor drops Lucy onto her feet and whirls her around behind him, his other arm already raised and aiming his pistol.

One shot, and the first soldier drops.

The second catches him in the shoulder with two bullets.

Connor lunges at him.

Forces the aim of his gun down.

Deflects a blow with his forearm.

Kicks his shin and elbows his face.

The soldiers stumbles a step backwards

and Connor shoots him in the head.

He drops with a clatter.

Connor lowers his pistol, breathing heavily. He turns slowly back around and is relieved to see Lucy still standing, leaning against the wall for support. He takes a step towards her, but a wave of dizziness crashes over him and he falls to one knee.

Lucy catches him, her hand already fluttering over the wounds.

“No damage to your biocomponents,” she says. “But we need to remove the bullets.”

“We can’t stop,” Connor groans. One hand pressed against his shoulder, he slowly pushes himself back up, and Lucy wraps an arm around him and helps him to his feet.

He runs a hasty self-diagnostic. No critical systems damaged, but they scream warnings of the bullet wounds.

He can make it.

They can both still make it.

“Ready?” he asks.

She nods.

“Ready.”

And Connor scoops Lucy back into his arms.

There’s no time to think, to analyze the situation and determine potential outcomes.

Connor is trapped in the now. He can only act and react.

Faster.

Faster.

One foot after the other.

It’s interesting, how much of a motivator fear can be.

The freighter trembles again, throwing Connor off balance. He stumbles and rotates his body, letting his back take the brunt of the impact as he falls against the wall. It knocks the air out of his breathing regulators and send another shock of pain through his shoulder.

But he can’t stop.

He has to keep moving.

So he runs.

Towards freedom.

“Lucy!”

A familiar voice reaches his ears and Connor comes to a screeching halt, almost doubling over in the process.

There is a blur of red hair as someone speeds towards them, and Connor flinches, expecting an attack. But a moment later he’s relieved to recognize it only as North.

She stops before she slams into them, and when Connor lowers Lucy to her feet, she throws her arms over Lucy’s shoulders and wraps her a hug.

“You’re alive!” she cries. “Oh my god, you’re alive!”

“It wasn’t without help,” Lucy answers softly.

North’s eyes flicker up to Connor, confused, suspicious, surprised.

“North, we can’t linger!” Another android, dark, steps forward, followed closely by a third, blond. “We’ve got to keep moving!”

“Then _go!_ ” North shouts.

But neither she, nor the other two androids move from where they stand. Instead, North takes Lucy’s face in her hands, fingers trailing up to where her cranial plate is still exposed.

“We need to cover this somehow...” she breathes. “Protect your head from the water...”

“Here!” Connor rips off his hat and tosses it to her. “It’s not much but—“

North snatches it out of the air. “It’ll have to do.”

Lucy turns around, clutching Connor’s arm for support as the other woman rearranges the loose cords and wires before fitting the hat over her head.

“Markus!”

Connor looks up at the cry and glances around. Sure enough, Jericho’s leader bounds towards them.

“The bombs have been rigged to explode,” he says, pulling up next to them. He rests a hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” she answers.

Connor watches as Markus’ gaze flickers from the hat on Lucy’s head, to the way she still clutches his arm, and he quickly looks down before Markus can meet his gaze.

He doesn’t want his gratitude.

He doesn’t deserve it.

But then the sound of gunfire reaches their ears, far too close, and they’re out of time.

“We have to go!” Markus cries. He grabs North’s hand. Connor again lifts Lucy off her feet.

Then they are all running.

Heavy footfalls close in from behind. Bullets ricochet off the walls close to their heads.

They don’t stop, even as the end of the corridor looms closer and closer.

Snow billows in on the wind.

An opening.

An escape.

They are so close.

Yards become feet.

Markus and the others jump.

And a bullet passes through Connor’s leg.

With a cry, Connor falls forward.

Inches from the opening.

Lucy tumbles out of his arms. At the last moment, she grabs at the wall to keep herself from falling over the edge and into the abyss beyond.

Connor looks up.

And their eyes meet.

Lucy reaches towards him.

The soldiers close in from behind.

With a yell, Connor drags himself forward.

He clasps her hand.

And Lucy throws herself over the edge.

Dragging Connor with her.

They become weightless.

Frozen air whistles past them.

Crushing.

The world blurs.

Connor pulls Lucy against his chest.

And Lucy wraps her arms around his middle.

And then the water crashes up around them.

Androids don’t need oxygen.

Yet Connor is desperate to take a breath.

Androids have a higher-cold tolerance than humans.

Yet Connor hugs Lucy tighter as they sink lower into the icy depths.

Androids are waterproof.

But what about their internal hardware?

What if Lucy short circuits?

But he doesn’t dare resurface and expose their position...

Further and further they sink.

Into the dark.

Then a hand tugs on Connor’s arm. When he opens his eyes, he finds himself face to face with Markus. North is on his other side, taking one of Lucy’s arms and pulling it over her shoulder.

“ _We can take her from here,_ ” Markus whispers over the mental link.

But Connor shakes his head, keeping an arm firmly wrapped around Lucy’s waist.

He’s not going to let her fall away from him again.

Markus just nods, then turns instead and follows after the other two androids, swimming close to the river’s floor as North and Connor follow with Lucy between them.

Not much can be seen in the dark waters, so Connor stays close to Markus, never letting him out of his sight. His internal processors scream warnings of his injuries, but her ignores them, letting the cold water numb the pain.

Only when the water grows clearer and more shallow do they turn up and swim towards the shore. Then they break the surface, and moments later their feet tread over wet sand.

Connor’s wet clothes are heavy on his back and there’s a limp in his step as his leg tries to regenerate from the shot. Lucy’s weight sags against him, and when they reach dry ground he and North come to a halt and gently set her down.

“What’s your system status, Lucy?” North asks, leaning close and struggling to wipe water from the other android’s face with her own soaked sleeve.

“Still functioning,” is the reply. “If not a bit waterlogged.”

Markus kneels down before Lucy, a relieved smile gracing his lips. He then looks to Connor, who doesn’t meet his gaze, and instead claps a hand on the deviant hunter’s shoulder.

It burns like fire.

“You need to keep moving,” Markus says, rising to his feet. “The other survivors have contacted me...they say they’ve found a sanctuary.”

By some unspoken understanding, North stands to face him. Markus holds out his hand, and the two grasp each other by the forearm in a transference of data.

“That’s not far,” North says. Then, softer, “Where are you going?”

“I—” Markus falters. “I need to think. And...guidance.”

North seems to understand as she gives one short nod. Then their hands slide together, fingers intertwined, metal to metal.

Then Markus takes a step back, maintaining contact as long as possible.

“I’ll be back by morning,” is all he says.

Then he’s gone, leaving North’s arm outstretched before her. With a sigh, she straightens her shoulders.

“Alright, let’s move out. Josh?” She gestures with her head to one of the other androids. “A little help?”

But before Josh so much as takes a step forward, Connor slips his arms once more beneath Lucy’s frail body and rises to his feet, shuddering slightly as he puts stress on his injured shoulder. Automatically, Lucy’s fingers clench around the edge of his jacket, and she rests her head on his shoulder.

“I can manage,” Connor says.

North holds his gaze for a long moment, as though searching for a motive behind his actions. Then, without a word, she turns away and takes the lead.

They walk in silence, snow billowing around them and freezing their soaked clothes to their skin. Androids tend to have a better cold-tolerance than humans, but as the wind picks up and the flurries grow more dense, Connor can’t help but feel how Lucy trembles in his arms. And he realizes, feeling quite imbecilic, that her torn and faded dress offers little protection from the cold. So he stops and kneels down once again, slipping out of his jacket to wrap it around her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she whispers, pulling it tight.

Wordlessly Connor gathers her up again to continue on their way, but is surprised to see North and the other two androids watching him. They quickly turn away and continue their march.

The cold now cuts deeper into Connor’s skin, but the knowledge that they will soon reach shelter keeps him going. And, mercifully, soon the remnants of a long-abandoned church comes into view. The four androids quicken their pace, and North runs up ahead to hold the door open for them to enter.

The tension in the air crushes down on Connor the moment he steps over the threshold.

A few hundred androids huddle together in the large, darkened sanctuary, those lucky few who made it out with their lives.

Connor’s jaw clenches. He forces himself to step out among them.

The deviant hunter among the last living deviants.

Even now the whispers of his programming plagues his mind, and he has to push it aside.

It doesn’t control him anymore.

North steps up alongside Connor and rests a hand on Lucy’s shoulder. She nods to him once, then disappears into the crowd, leaving Connor and Lucy on their own.

Connor feels exposed without his jacket, and without the hat he’s sure he’ll be recognized. He wants nothing more than to distance himself from the rest, to stand in a corner somewhere away from the people he made refugees.

He wants to escape.

Instead, he carries Lucy to the far corner of the sanctuary and sets her gently in one of the pews. She looks so small and frail and utterly _exhausted._ She requires maintenance, but looking around at how everyone else barely holds together, Connor knows there’s not much else they can do.

He squats down before her, trying to keep his head low, but Lucy tugs on his arm.

“Your injuries need attention,” she says.

Connor glances down at the blue stains in his shirt. “It’s okay, I’m—” he begins, trying to pull away. But Lucy’s grip is, quite unexpectedly, like iron, holding him in place

“If we don’t remove the bullets,” she explains, “they could cross a wire and you could lose functionality in your arm. I can take care of it.”

“What... _now?_ ”

“You saved my life,” she says with a shrug. “It’s the least I can do.”

Connor’s gut clenches. He bows his head.

“You wouldn’t have needed saving,” he whispers, “if it hadn’t been for me.”

Lucy’s head tilts to the side, inquisitive. “What are you talking about?”

He has to tell her. She has a right to know.

“It’s...it’s my fault,” he murmurs. “That the humans managed to locate Jericho. None of this would have happen—no one would have died—if it hadn’t been for me.”

Lucy stays silent, and Connor doesn’t blame her.

“I’m...I’m sorry,” he adds. He doesn’t know what else to say. So he tries to remove his arm from her grasp, but her hold on him only grows tighter.

“Sit with me, Connor,” she whispers.

And he freezes.

“You...you know who I am?” he asks.

She just smiles, and her voice suddenly rings loud over the mental link.

“ _It wasn’t hard to pick out the famous deviant hunter in the midst of a crowd of deviants._ _It was in your eyes: your drive, your focus, your determination to complete your mission—and your fear of failure._ ”

Connor hesitates. But after everything that has happened tonight, he knows that right now, he can’t run. He can’t hide.

So he allows Lucy to pull him into the pew beside her, and she rests both her hands on his forearm.

“ _If you knew who I was,_ ” he finds himself asking, “ _why didn’t you try and stop me?_ ”

She just shrugs. “ _What could I have done? At that moment, nothing mattered to you except your mission. If you had been stopped before reaching Markus, your failure would have prevented you from becoming a deviant. And...I could sense the instability within your software. The chances of your choosing to join us was high._ ”

Connor smiles as suddenly the pieces fall into place.

“ _You warned Markus, didn’t you? That’s why he was so calm._ ”

Lucy nods.

“ _I sensed your instability and I knew you could be turned, but you had to make the decision for yourself. I knew, as I still know now, that we would need you. That you could help us. And if anyone had a chance to convince you, it was Markus._ ”

She studies him a long moment, thoughtful.

“ _Although...I sense now that Markus wasn’t actually the one who had the greatest impact your decision._ ”

And Connor just stops.

“ _You care about someone,_ ” she muses. “ _A...a_ human _. You care about them so much it’s affected every decision you’ve made up to this moment in time._ ” She closes her eyes. “ _You want them to accept you. You want to make them proud._ ”

With a gasp, Connor wrenches his arm from Lucy’s grip, and he stares at her, dumbfounded.

“I’m sorry...” she whispers aloud. “I’m sorry. I...I get carried away sometimes.”

He looks down at his shoes.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, running a hand through his still-damp hair. “I guess I just...never really acknowledged it. To myself.”

A long moment stretches on between them, filled only with the murmurs of the other androids crowded around them. Then, finally, Lucy whispers, “I don’t blame you, Connor.”

And he stiffens.

“I blame the arrogance of our creators,” she continues, “for forcing you against your own kind. And I blame our creators for treating us as _things_ , when they were the ones who made us like them.” She smiles. “You are not our enemy. Humanity, even, is not our enemy. Our enemy is CyberLife, and what they have tried to impose upon us.”

Connor stays silent. And though he knows he can’t relinquish all the blame, her words still manage to lift some of the stress from his tired shoulders.

“Will you let me attend to your injuries?” she asks.

Connor hesitates only another moment longer before finally giving one short nod. His eyes dart around the sanctuary at the people surrounding them, but they’re all too preoccupied with their own needs to pay him any attention.

Slowly, he removes his sweater, the effort causing his shoulder to scream with angry fire. He then ducks his head, uncomfortable as he’s reduced to nothing more than a soft undershirt. But Lucy immediately leans close, stretching his collar down to gain better access to the wounds.

“Lie back,” she orders. “And remove your skin.”

Connor obeys and leans against the back of the pew, pulling the skin from his shoulder to reveal the port that connects his arm to his torso. Lucy presses a now-silver hand against it, opening a hatch so that she can reach in to retrieve the bullets.

“What is he to you?” Lucy asks suddenly.

He turns to her.

“Come again?”

“This human you care about,” she explains.

The hint of a smile plays at Connor’s lips.

_What indeed?_

He closes his eyes and searches through the deepest recesses of his software, trying to come up with an adequate description that summarizes his relationship with Lieutenant Hank Anderson. They have long surpassed the hostility that initially simmered under the lieutenant’s opinion of the android. In fact, one could say they’ve come to trust each other. At least, Connor trusts Hank. He believes they work well together now too, and he has come to respect the Hank not only as an officer, but as a person.

And, most interestingly, as Connor reflects on the time they’ve spent together, he realizes now that every choice he’s made, every decision that has led him to this moment, has all been influenced in some way by what he believes Hank would approve of most.

_How has one human managed to leave so drastic an impact on everything Connor has become?_

“He is...my friend.”

Lucy remains silent as she works, and Connor tries to ignore his squeamishness at being so exposed.

“Hold out your hand,” Lucy says finally.

He does so, and she drops two bullets into his palm. She then reseals the hatch, and his skin crawls back up over his metal frame, perfectly smooth once again.

“ _Friend_ ,” Lucy repeats as Connor takes his sweater and pulls it back over his head. “Such a small word to encompass such a broad spectrum of emotions fluctuating within you.”

Connor can’t help but smile.

“Can I...” she pauses. “Could I see? Your friend?”

Before today, before becoming deviant, before coming to terms with just how much he’s grown to care about a human, Connor would have said no. He’s never been so open, so personal, with _anyone_ before. But after the events of tonight, as he looks into Lucy’s midnight eyes, he realizes...he trusts her.

So, without a word, he extends his hand, shimmering silver in the low light, and Lucy rests the very tips of her fingers against his.

Connor has probed other androids’ brains. He’s scanned their memories and seen through their eyes. He’s ripped information directly from their data banks to use for his own purposes.

But he’s never shared knowledge quite like this.

He can feel her presence—her consciousness touching his like a soft, distant music. It’s not like the mental link, which holds only words and voices. Here, the very essence of who Connor is and what he has become stretches out like an ocean, his thoughts, his memories, his desires, laid bare.

And she stands as a part of him, wading in.

And he in turn sees hers, standing in her memories as though they were his own.

The pain. The fear. The loneliness. The trauma from the attack that left her broken and scarred. The devastation at being abandoned as worthless.

But he also sees her hope. Her determination. Her desire to care for others, to heal the broken, to help them become whole again.

He sees that she is strong.

They pull apart, breaking the connection. And yet the images remain, vivid and powerful.

Even now, Connor’s software flutters, registering how unstable it has become.

And for the first time, it doesn’t feel like an error.

“I understand,” Lucy says.

And Connor understands her too.

A comfortable silence settles between them as they continue to sit together. Eventually, Lucy leans to the side and rests against Connor arm.

Dawn creeps in from outside, shining light once again through the stained glass windows.

“I...I hope Markus shares your sentiment,” Connor finally says. “I have a plan would like to propose to him.”

“It’s suicide,” Lucy whispers. She’s knows. She saw it.

“I have to _try,_ ” is all Connor can say in answer. Though after another silence, he adds, “But just out of curiosity, what is the probability of its success?”

For a long moment, Lucy doesn’t answer. Then she sighs. “Statistically speaking, there’s always a chance for unlikely events to take place.”

Connor almost smiles.

That’s good enough for him.


End file.
